Hispanic Fanatic

We are approaching 100 years of cool.

Yes, for the vast majority of human existence, nobody was cool or hip or happenin or tight or flexing or phat or badass or whatever the kids are saying today.

Those concepts didn’t exist.

So everyone — from kings to peasants, from farmers to pirates — just went about their business, devoid of coolness, until the day they died.

And then the 1920s arrived.

All of a sudden, we had jazz and nightclubs and drinking and carousing. We had crazy parties, hipster lingo (e.g., “the bee’s knees”) and America’s first wild women, the flappers.

Seriously, how cool were the flappers?

But the development of this new human state of mind provoked an equally strong backlash. So we had the first scolds, the first self-righteous hypocrites, and the first moral panics.

Why did this happen?

Well, as usual in America, you can blame it on Black people… or more accurately, you can blame it on White people who blamed it on Black people.

You see, the 1920s saw the rise of jazz, often proclaimed as the only music genre created in the United States. Of course, I would argue that the blues is an original music form that was born in America, and the same can be said of rock and roll as well as rap/hip-hop (and yes, Black people invented all of them).

In any case, jazz musicians were primarily Black, and the White audience that danced to those crazy beats had upended a cultural norm that no one ever thought would be upended.

For the first time in American history, Black people were influencing White people. Never before had White Americans admired or respected Black people the way they did with jazz musicians. This was simply unprecedented, and to many White people, it was unimaginable and abominable as well.

And this inversion of societal mores promptly caused much of White America to freak the fuck out.

The criminalization of drug use, the demonization of the younger generation, the hysteria about loud music, the terror over premarital sex — all of it had its roots in the 1920s. And all of these cultural fears were based upon the jagged foundation of racism, the true root fear for so much of our country’s hatred and paranoia.

This particular set of horrors is closing in on a century of cultivation. And as we all know, these fears are stronger than ever with a very large and very loud portion of America.

But to be fair, without apocalyptic sermonizing and uptight judgement and close-minded intolerance, we would not have their antithesis: the concept of being cool.

So here’s a salute to those wild, bawdy, and edgy 1920s jazz lovers, partying until sunrise and drinking bathtub gin and dancing bizarre jitterbugs like the chicken flip, the kangaroo dip, and the monkey glide (all real dances, by the way).

We can all only hope to be half as cool as they were.

We are all descended from losers.

Take me, for instance. My family came from El Salvador, a charter member of the Third-World Nation Hall of Fame that is best known for crippling poverty, psychotic gangs, bloody civil wars, murdered priests, and raped nuns.

I’m also part Italian, which lends itself to stereotypes of Mafia hit men and the original unwashed horde of immigrants. In addition, Italy is currently on its 982^nd post-WWII government (not exactly a source of pride).

And I’m a touch Irish as well. So here comes the drunken, brawling Irishman, everybody.

No, I’m not self-loathing. In truth, I’m grateful for my mélange of ancestry. I regularly sing the praises of Latino culture, and it’s not bad having a connection (however distant) to Da Vinci and James Joyce.

However, everyone’s culture has black spots, and our efforts to honor our ancestors should not extend to overt denial and large-scale myopia. But they regularly do.

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I recently saw the movie Whiplash, which was a gripping look at the price of greatness. For those who haven’t seen the flick, it’s about a teenager jazz drummer obsessed with becoming a legendary artist.

Now, most of us are not willing to practice an instrument until our hands literally bleed, as the Whiplash protagonist does. But the good news is that you may not have to.

You see, a recent study showed that taking music lessons — just basic chord progressions, strumming skills and the like — greatly improves people’s language and reading skills.

Even more interesting is that the research was conducted on at-risk, low-income children, most of them Latino.

The researchers believe that the experience of making music creates a more efficient brain that helps a person learn and communicate better. But the study implies that at least two years of lessons are required before improvements kick in.

So what does this mean for Hispanic kids, who often live in disadvantaged areas? Well, it implies that investing in music education may help Latino children improve their learning skills and close the educational gap between Hispanics and other ethnic groups. The results also imply that for low-income students, music lessons can be as important as traditional classes in math and reading.

Because music is a key part of Latino culture, programs that offer music education will find a receptive audience in Hispanic kids. After all, I could not have been the only Latino kid who grew up on a steady diet of Santana and Julio Jaramillo. And that’s not even getting into all the salsa, rock, hip hop, and stray bits of classic country that finds its way into Latino homes.

Basically, we like to listen to a lot of music, so it should be a natural extension to get Hispanic kids to learn how to play it.

This research aligns with another recent study, which found that bilingual kids have more flexible brains and better cognitive abilities. Keep in mind that most of the demand for Spanish-language immersion schools is coming from white families who want their kids to master another language and gain exposure to diversity.

So it might not be long before you peek into a classroom and see a bunch of multiethnic kids speaking Spanish and jamming on blues standards.

Rock on.